


And When They Say They Don't Believe, I Hope that They See You and Me

by WhereverMySITakesMe



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, F/M, Fever, Hurt Roy Mustang, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Maes Hughes, Mostly hurt, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seizures, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 17:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30042282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhereverMySITakesMe/pseuds/WhereverMySITakesMe
Summary: Hawkeye helps Mustang through a night of withdrawal
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	And When They Say They Don't Believe, I Hope that They See You and Me

Hawkeye had only been asleep for an hour or so when she was woken by the shrill sound of her phone. She didn’t mind the disturbance, not really. Even when the nightmares weren’t bad enough to wake her, sleep wasn’t pleasant. Guilt weighed heavily on her and every night was haunted with the faces of the dead.

Still, she glanced at the clock as she got out of bed. Three am. Whoever was calling, it must be important.

When she picked up the phone she no time to speak before Mustang blurted “I can’t do it.” His voice was shaking

Hawkeye knew immediately that things were very bad but she kept her voice calm “What can’t you do, Colonel?”

“Any of it!” His voice cracked “I can’t become Fuhrer or fix Amestris or anything. I can’t even go a single night without drinking.”

“Sir, none of that's true.”

“You were right.” He carried on as though he hadn’t heard her “I can’t do it. I can’t do anything.”

“I never said that.”

She  **had** confronted him, two days ago now, about what was obviously a serious problem. She’d started noticing the signs months ago- the smell of Scotch on his breath in the mornings, his rumpled demeanor, the daily hangovers he tried, and failed, to hide. She hadn’t stepped in, even as she watched him get worse. As his assistant, she couldn’t comment on his behavior outside of work. And as his friend… She hadn’t known how to approach the topic. It was hard to tell the difference between a young man enjoying himself a little too much and something more sinister.

It was only when he started drinking at work-or, more likely, stopped being able to hide that he was drinking at work- that she finally spoke up. She’d known even as she did it that she’d left it too late.

But there was no time to think about that now “You  **can** do this, sir. I know that you can.”

Mustang made a choking noise that sounded horrifyingly close to a sob.

“Take a breath,” She instructed “You called me instead of drinking, correct?”

She heard him inhale shakily “Yes.”

“Good. I’ll come over now.”

“No, Riza, don’t go” His voice was tinged with panic. She’d never seen him like this before.

“I’ll drive, it’ll only be five minutes”

“No. If you go, even for a second I’ll do it, I-”

“Okay, okay,” She cut him off “I’ll stay on the phone.”

“Thank you” His relief was obvious “Thank you, Riza”

Hawkeye stayed calm and business-like “Do you have any alcohol with you?”

“Yes.”

At least he was being honest with her. “Get rid of it. Pour it away.”

“I...I don’t know if I can do that, Lieutenant.”

“Alright. Then put it in the back of a cupboard or in a box under a stack of books. Make it as hard to access as you can, so you can’t grab it on impulse”

There was a brief silence, apart from sounds of objects being moved, which Hawkeye took advantage of to sit down and make herself comfortable. She sensed that she’d be there for a while. By the sounds off it, Mustang was refusing to put the phone down for even a second. Luckily his apartment was small.

Eventually, Mustang spoke again “Okay. I’ve hidden it all.”

“Good.” Hawkeye said encouragingly “Now go and turn on all the lights. Then find a blanket to wrap around yourself”

When he’d done that, she gave the next set of instructions “Make yourself a hot drink. Tea, coffee, whatever.”

In lieu of a better idea, she was walking him through the things she did to calm herself when her nightmares made sleep impossible. They might do him good or at least keep him distracted for a few minutes.

“How do you feel now?” she asked when she’d run out of things to suggest.

“Better.” Most of the shakiness was gone from his voice and he sounded almost normal again. “Still not great.”

“Better is a good start.”

“I want a drink so bad, Hawkeye.”

“I know, sir,” She said gently.

“It’s been almost two years.”

Since Ishval, he meant.

“I know,” She said, again.

“I thought I’d feel better by now. I thought…” He trailed off “I don’t know why I thought that.”

“Drinking was never going to help, sir. Not long term”

“I know.”

She believed him. She knew him well enough to see what had happened, how the Just This Once’s and Everyone Has A Drink In the Evening’s and It’s a Bad Night’s had been frequent enough for addiction to take hold.

He spoke again before she could “We have work in less than six hours.”

“Don’t worry about that, sir.” Hopefully he would be through the worst of it by then and, if not, she would handle it. He had enough on his plate.

“I don’t think I can hold a pen, I’m shaking so bad.”

“That’s why you have an assistant, sir.”

He snorted a half laugh but was serious again almost immediately “Shit, Hawkeye, I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing.”

“There’s no need to thank me, sir.”

She was acting like something awful would happen if she said a single sentence that didn’t contain the word “sir”. Maybe that they’d be forced to admit they didn’t have a normal superior-subordinate relationship. Or even a normal relationship between friends.

She pushed the thought away “When did you last eat, sir? It might help with the shakiness.”

“Not since this morning. I feel like I’m gonna puke.”

“Okay. Just drink your tea, then. Small sips”

“Yes, doctor.” It was a weak attempt at a joke, but still reassuring

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over? It would do you good to lie down.” She was pretty sure the phone couldn't reach that far.

“I am lying down.”

“What?”

“I’m on my kitchen floor.”

She sighed “Mustang, if you feel that bad you should be in bed.” Preferably with someone on hand to take care of him

“I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache.”

“Headache, nausea, shaking” She corrected

“Still. I’ve had colds worse than this.”

Because he was a drunk and his immune system was shot.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I can’t sleep. Trust me.”

“I do.” She reassured him “You don’t have to sleep. Just take it easy.”

“I will. Keep talking to me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Maybe about something other than how terrible I feel.” She could hear the smirk

“Right.” She wracked her brain for something positive to say “Rumour has it that Fuery has a girlfriend.”

“Fuery? Are you sure you don’t mean Havoc?”

“No, Fuery. Apparently he’s getting close to one of the admin girls. It’s very cute”

“Is he not twelve?” Mustang’s voice sounded strained

“Sergeant Fuery turned nineteen last month, sir. And I believe the girl is around that age as well.”

“Well, good for him. I’ll have to-” he swallowed hard “-give him the Talk.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that, sir.” It hurt like hell to hear the tension and pain in his voice but she kept her voice cheery “You should do the same for the others, they won’t want to be left out.”

He laughed shakily. “Pretty sure Havoc would take that as an insult.”

“If he does, you can remind him that he’s an unmarried man so it would be improper for you to assume that he’s experienced in such matters.”

“Why do I feel like this is going to end with Hughes giving  **me** the Talk?”

“Because you don’t know many married men, sir/”

“Then why won’t Hughes get off my back about finding a wife?”

“Because-” A groan interrupted her and she immediately dropped the banter “Mustang?”

“I’m okay. Just need some water.” There was another, longer groan as he pushed himself upright. “Keep talking.”

“Right, of course.” Hawkeye went back to bland prattle that even she was barely paying attention to, too busy trying to make out what was happening on Mustang’s end. She heard splashing water and another groan. Relief this time, rather than pain.

The water kept running for several seconds, enough for her to start to worry again “Mustang, are you still there?”

“Yeah. Just... Just cooling off”

It sounded like he had a fever. Things were going from bad to worse “Just so you’re aware, sir, if you go quiet or hang up I’m going to assume that you’ve passed out and rush over there.”

“Noted,” he exhaled. “Though if I do pass out you should be pleased that I’m getting some sleep.”

She sighed “You’re sick, sir.”

“I have the shakes. It’s not a big deal.”

“It  **is** a big deal.” She was openly frustrated now, maybe even angry “You have got to stop relying on denial. You wouldn’t be in this state now if we had caught your addiction earlier!”

For a few seconds there was silence, apart from the running tap. Eventually Mustang said “You’re not pulling your punches.”

“You need to hear it.”

“Maybe I do.” He sighed again “I can’t think in this state, Lieutenant.” As if to emphasise his point, this was followed by the sound of retching.

Hawkeye immediately felt guilty for lashing out. He didn’t need her to make him feel even worse and it was mainly herself she was angry at for not acting earlier, not him. “I know. Just try to breathe, sir.”

She heard him slump back to the ground and ask “How much longer will this last?”

“I have no idea,” she admitted. “But it won’t be forever, I can promise that.”

“Thanks.” There was the hint of a smile in his voice, but his voice was frighteningly weak.

Hawkeye tried to sound positive. “You should turn off your tap or you’ll have a massive water bill to match the massive phone bill you’ll get from this conversation.”

“I can afford it, I’m a damn State Alchemist,” he said and started to laugh almost hysterically. “They pay me so goddamn much. So they can use my alchemy.” The laughter had started to turn to sobs “For atrocities.”

“I know,” Hawkeye said. This wasn’t him. Mustang didn’t cry like that. He didn’t cry at all. It was just the withdrawal. A chemical problem. That didn’t make it any easier to listen to.

“I see the people I murdered every night. Every single one of them, all screaming.”

“I know,” Hawkeye repeated. It was all she could say.

“I can’t get away from them. The drink was the only way out and now…” He sobbed harder.

Tears had started to run down Hawkeye’s cheeks as well “You’ll find other ways. I know you will/”

He didn’t seem to hear her “I can’t count how many lives I’ve taken. The children…”

“I know,” Hawkeye said again. And again. And again. She said little else for the next half hour as she let Mustang cry it out. He would pull himself together eventually. He always did.

Sure enough, the tears stopped almost all at once and he sucked in a shaky breath before abruptly changing tone “I shouldn’t cry like that. My heads killing me as it is.”

“You never did mix well with water, sir,” Hawkeye wiped her own face with her sleeve

He snorted again “Where would I be without you, Lieutenant?”

Drunk, probably. “I’m sure you’d find another assistant.”

“Not one willing to sit up all night with me because of something that’s my own damn fault.”

He was probably right about that. She was going above and beyond the call of duty.

She quickly changed the topic “Drink some water. It’ll help with the headache.”

“Yes doctor.” She heard him stand with a groan and fill a glass “Seriously, how much sleep have you had?”

Not enough, but she was used to that by now. “Focus on yourself, sir. I’ll be fine.”

“I should give you a break. Call Hughes.”

“Sir, if you let me hang up, I’m going to your apartment to look after you properly.”

“Is there anything I can say that will make you get some rest?”

“Absolutely not. Now, are you going to call Hughes?”

Mustang sighed “I don’t want to disturb him. He just had a baby.”

Still putting other people first. He was impossible sometimes. “You’re very sick, sir. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a brief conversation while I drive over.”

“No. I’d wake the kid. He and Gracia would never forgive me.”

Hawkeye did not appreciate the joke. She was tempted to just hang up and call Hughes herself. But she didn’t know how Mustang would react to that in his current state “As long as you’re sure, sir.”

“I am.”

“You’re a stubborn idiot sometimes.”

He tutted “You should know better than to talk to a superior officer like that, Lieutenant.”

“You can reprimand me for unprofessional conduct next time we see each other during working hours.”

“I will do. Don’t think I’ll be showing you any favouritism because of this.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.” The last thing she wanted was special treatment. They were too close as it was.

Mustang quickly filled the lapse in conversation. “What else has the squad been up to? I’ve been a little distracted lately.”

More banter. Hawkeye forced the cheeriness back into her voice “Falman and Breda have started betting on the canteen food. I think Havoc is getting dragged into it as well. It’s probably going to get out of control and end with someone going bankrupt.”

“And trying to get a loan from me, I’m sure.”

“I doubt that. You’re not known for being free with your money.”

“I’m teaching my men responsibility.”

“I’m not sure that’s how they see it.”

“The gambling suggests that it hasn’t worked so far.”

“You’ll have to try harder, sir.”

“Yes. I’ll try…” He trailed off, sounding confused. “Try harder”

“You’re not a bad boss” Hawkeye tried to reassure him, wondering if she’d upset him somehow “I know we complain, but we’d complain about anyone. That’s just how it is.”

“Yes… I… I’m not... ”

“Is something wrong, sir?”

Silence.

“Mustang?”

Still no response, except for a noise that sounded horrifyingly like limbs flailing against the floor.

“Mustang?” She shouted again, starting to panic “Mustang!”

Still nothing. She gave it another terrifying second before saying “I’m calling Hughes. Hold on.” She slammed down the phone and dialed Hughes’ number.

She was still acutely aware of the passage of time and was near-frenzied when Hughes finally picked up “Call Mustang. Now.”

“Riza, what’s going -”

“Call him. Keep calling him until he answers. Tell him that I’m sorry and I’ll be there soon. Do you understand?”

He picked up on her intensity “Yes.”

She hung up and sprinted to her car.

Four minutes later she was outside Mustang’s door, calling out “Colonel, I’m coming in,” and using the key he had given her months ago to let herself in.

“Hawkeye?” The word came out a slurred groan, but at least he was conscious and vaguely lucid.

“Yes, I’m here,” she reassured him as she headed through to the kitchen.

A sorry sight greeted her. Mustang was on the floor, still in his uniform trousers and dress shirt, hunched over a wastepaper basket that he was holding in one arm. In the other was the receiver of his phone. His jacket was abandoned on the other side of the room. Next to him were a tea mug and water glass, both knocked over and spilling their contents onto the floor and a blanket was tangled around his limbs. Tremors wracked his entire body and as she watched he let out a moan and vomited into the basket.

Hawkeye dropped to her knees next to him and put a hand on his back, murmuring reassurance: “Easy, let it out.” Under her fingers, his skin was burning hot and shirt was soaked with sweat “Deep breaths.”

“Hughes wants to talk to you,” he choked out between gags and pushed the phone into her hands.

“Hello, sir,” Hawkeye said as she rubbed circles into Mustang’s back. “The Colonel isn’t well. I’m sorry for alarming you.”

“Unwell, huh?” Hughes said wearily. “Look, I get why you were freaked out. But maybe rushing over every time he drinks himself half to death isn’t the best thing to do. At some point, we’re just enabling him.”

“He’s not drunk.” Apparently Mustang either hadn’t explained the situation or had been incomprehensible. “He quit drinking. Today. He’s in withdrawal.”

“God damn.” Hughes was momentarily speechless.

“I know. Someone should have stepped in earlier.” By ‘someone’ she of course meant herself.

“Maybe,” Hughes said vaguely “Good for him for quitting, but… Poor guy. If there’s anything I can do to help…”

There wasn’t much he could do from Central, half a country away, but she appreciated the offer. “Go back to bed, sir. I’ve got this.”

“Take good care of him, Lieutenant.”

“I will.” She hung up and turned her full attention back to Mustang.

She kept rubbing his back and reassuring him until the vomiting finally stopped and he slumped back against the cupboards, eyes closed “You shouldn’t blame yourself, Lieutenant.”

“I don’t.”

He knew her too well for that to work “Yes, you do. But you’re wrong to. I did this to myself. I drank myself stupid for months and I hid it from you, on purpose. You can’t blame yourself for any of that.”

Maybe she couldn’t, but she could certainly blame herself for not acting on what she  **had** seen. And she wasn’t an addict, her perspective hadn’t been warped by drugs. Unlike him.

But they had more important things to focus on than arguing over who was to blame “Let’s get you to bed. Can you stand?”

“I think so,” he said, reluctantly opening his eyes and pushing himself properly upright. “But this conversation isn’t over.”

Hawkeye ignored the second comment, just saying, “Lean on me,” as she helped him to his feet and draped one of his arms over her shoulders. He let her take most of his weight, still shaking all over.

“You know, you might be more comfortable if you change out of your uniform,” she commented, thinking of the heat of his skin and the wool trousers he was wearing.

To her relief, he shook his head “I feel like death, different clothes won’t touch it.”

“Let me know if you change your mind, sir.” If he needed help, with anything, she’d give it, even if helping him out of his clothes might make things awkward between them later on.

“I will. But I really don’t have any comfortable clothes. I prefer--” there was a beat pause as he winced, “--to be stylish”

“You must have pyjamas, at the very least.”

“I think I used to…” He smirked impishly “I must have left them at someone’s place. Not sure who.”

“Well, be sure not to do that again, sir.” She said as she lowered him onto the bed. “Lie still for a minute. I’ll be back.”

“Alright.” He said, then added, “Hurry.”

“I will.”

As promised she returned within a minute, carrying everything Mustang might need during the night. She wouldn’t leave his side again if she could possibly avoid it.

“Lieutenant?” Mustang said casually, pushing himself up on one elbow.

“Yes?” She knelt next to the bed and dipped a wash cloth into a bowl of water she’d brought.

He smiled impishly. “You’re still in your pyjamas.”

Of course. She hadn’t even thought of changing before rushing out. “You’re right” She said with a small snort.

“If anyone saw you here, dressed like this… They’d have some things to say.”

“Hughes and the entirety of our squad  **already** say things about us” Not in a bad way. They were good men, not to type to speculate about Hawkeye sleeping her way up the ranks. They just saw how close Hawkeye and Mustang were and didn’t understand the complexity of their relationship.

“True. They don’t need any encouragement.”

“I’ll be sure to hide if anyone decides to visit you in the middle of the night.” She wrung out the cloth and placed it on his forehead.

Mustang let out a soft sigh and his eyes slid closed.

Hawkeye sat back on her heels “Do you need anything else, sir?”

“No, no… I’m fine…” His voice was weak and distant. With any luck, he was falling asleep.

She should have learned by now that neither of them had any luck.

Mustang started seizing. His back arched off the bed and his limbs began jerking wildly. Shit. Shit. Shit. Hawkeye didn’t know how to deal with seizures, why would she know that?

She’d feared that he was seizing earlier, when she rushed over, and this all but confirmed it.

There was nothing she could do except watch helplessly as he thrashed on the bed. Tears were streaking her face and she was counting the seconds that passed. How long would this last? How one had the last one lasted? She should have asked Hughes. Should have done something.

_ God, please, let this end.  _ She was praying now, as though any God gave a damn about people like Mustang. People like her.

It took a hundred and seven agonizing seconds before the fitting stopped and another sixty eight before Mustang regained consciousness and blinked up at her uncertainly “Lieutenant…?”

“I’m here” She stroked his cheek with one hand “How are you feeling?”

He ignored the question. “You’re...crying.” He reached out with trembling fingers to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“You had a seizure.” She took his hand in both of hers. “I was scared.”

"Shit." His face contorted in alarm.

“I think you had another before, when I got Hughes to call you.” She tightened her grip on his hand “You should be in hospital.”

“I can’t go to hospital, Lieutenant, you know that.”

She did. It would go on his records that he’d been hospitalised for withdrawal symptoms. Not Fuhrer material. But still. “This is bad, Mustang.”

He closed his eyes for a moment as though he was too tired to keep them open “It’ll pass. It has to”

But how long would it take? Hawkeye didn’t ask. It wouldn’t do any good to bring his spirits down. Instead she just found the damp cloth in his tangled sheets and returned it to his forehead “Yes. And I’ll be right here, the entire time.”

Mustang had two more seizures that night, both of which left him exhausted and confused and Hawkeye torn up inside and fighting back tears.

She filled the gaps between the seizures, the uncharacteristic bouts of sobbing and every other awful symptom with falsely cheerful banter. She’d almost certainly repeated the same stories several times, made up stories entirely and just talked gibberish. It didn’t matter. Mustang didn’t care about what she was saying, he just needed to know that she was there.

And he was repeating himself as well. “I’m not touching another drink. Never again,” he said, over and over and over.

The words didn’t give Hawkeye much reassurance. It was hard to trust an addict deep in the throes of withdrawal. Even Mustang.

This time, when she didn’t respond, he continued “Not a drop, I swear, Lieutenant, I-” He gasped, doubling over and clutching his mouth. “Shit, I’m going to...”

“Easy, it’s okay.” Hawkeye grabbed the wastepaper basket from the floor and helped him lean over it. She kept one hand on his back, moving it in soothing circles as he vomited. “I’m surprised you have anything left to bring up,” she commented dryly.

“Pure acid. Trust me,” Mustang panted, still heaving. “My stomach is tearing itself apart.”

“Just breathe.” She ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “It might do you good if you ate something. It would soak up some of the acid.”

“No. No way would it stay down.”

“Colonel-”

“No. Drop it,” he said firmly.

“Alright,” she said reluctantly.

When the heaving stopped Mustang stayed bent over the basket, panting and cradling his stomach, for a few seconds and then slumped forward so that his head was resting on Hawkeye’s shoulder.

“Done?” she asked gently.

He responded with a weary nod, so she put the basket back to the floor, having to use one arm to stop Mustang from falling forwards when she moved. A surprising amount of his weight was being supported by her shoulder, leaving awkwardly hanging off the edge of the bed.

As it seemed like he had no intention of moving his head, she shifted position until she was sitting on the bed, with Mustang lying across her chest. Too close. Too intimate.

He let out a soft groan at the movement but soon settled into the new, more stable, position “I can’t believe I’m letting you see me like this.”

“I would rather see this than see you lose your job for day drinking. Or you getting sick. Or dying.” Hawkeye was too tired to beat around the bush.

“I’d never… it would never have got that far.”

Hawkeye said nothing, just tangled her fingers in his hair.

“I know you think that I’m an addict.”

Hawkeye continued to say nothing, but more pointedly.

“Okay.” He folded under the judgemental gaze that he couldn’t see. “Maybe I am. But I’d never have let it get in the way of becoming Fuhrer.”

Somehow, Hawkeye believed that “Perhaps that’s why you’re quitting now. Before things get too bad.”

He smirked “I’m quitting because you chewed me out and I wanted to shut you up.”

“I’m part of the plan too, aren’t I?” She’d fight tooth and nail to stop him from sabotaging himself, through drinking or any other means. So, it wouldn’t happen.

Mustang didn’t answer the question. He didn’t need to. “I don’t deserve you, Lieutenant.”

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, sir.”

“I’m serious.” He ran a hand over his face “Have I thanked you yet? For staying up all night watching me puke?”

“You have. Several times.”

“Well, thank you again. For that...and for chewing me out.”

“You’re welcome. For everything.” She paused for a second before saying, “And I’m sorry. For not confronting you earlier.”

“A truly terrible failure.” His voice dripped was sarcastic humour. “I expect better from my babysitter.”

That made her crack a genuine smile. “Maybe Hughes could take over the job. You could pull some strings to get him over here.”

“Hughes already has one kid. I doubt he wants another.”

“You’re less work than an infant, sir. Just about.”

Mustang snorted “I’m flattered, I think.”

“Some days you could even pass for a bright teenager.” Hawkeye said as she absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair.

His skin was still too warm under her fingers, but not as burning as when she’d first arrived. The tremors had eased as well. Not gone entirely, but lighter and less painful-looking. He was getting better.

“What time is it?” Mustang asked as his laugh turned into a yawn.

She glanced at the clock on his bedside table “Almost seven AM.”

“We have work in a couple of hours.”

“Sir, you have got to be joking,” Hawkeye said incredulously.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll stay in my office so no one will see how much of a wreck I look.”

“And your seizures?”

“It’s been a while since the last one hasn’t it?”

That was ridiculous. So ridiculous that there was no point trying to argue with him. “If you’re heart’s set on going to work, you should get some sleep first.” Patronising as it might be, treating him like a child was sometimes useful.

He exhaled. “You might have a point there.”

“You’ve been awake all night.”

“I know. But I can’t face them. The nightmares. Not while I already feel like hell.”

“You’ll feel better if you sleep,” she pointed out

“Fine,” he said, obviously exhausted. “I’m too much of a coward to face them at all.”

“I don’t think you’re a coward,” she said calmly “I know it’s hard. But you have to find a way to cope without drink.”

He just stared down at his hands, resignation in his voice “How do you do it?”

“I don’t know” She admitted “Make tea. Turn the lights on. Clean my guns. Paperwork.” Mostly she just paced or stared out of the window for hours on end, keeping her mind determinedly blank.

Mustang smirked. “Is that a ploy to get me to do paperwork?”

Hawkeye snorted softly but gave an honest answer. “Procedure is distracting. Calming.”

“Still. It’s hardly an earth-shattering suggestion.”

“It doesn’t have to be earth-shattering. Just enough to get through the night.”

“I don’t know whether it would  **be** enough…when the booze, the oblivion is right there…” He trailed off awkwardly and shook his head, as though he was trying to shake away the moment of openness. “I know that I’m being weak.”

“I understand. I’m sorry I can’t say anything that will help.”

“It’s not your fault. I’ll figure something out. Push through it.”

Because that had gone so well so far.

“Call me,” Hawkeye found herself saying. “If you want to drink or need someone to talk to, any time, day or night.”

“That hardly seems fair, Lieutenant,” Mustang said with an awkward laugh

“Tough.” Hawkeye’s voice was steely, shutting down any argument. “I don’t give a damn about fairness.”

“Okay.” He was wrong-footed both by her stubbornness and by the intimacy of her request “I’ll call. I promise.”

“Thank you. Now get some sleep.”

Mustang stiffened against her

“I’ll be right here.” She softened her tone, taking his hand and squeezing it. “It’ll be okay”

“You’re right” Mustang sighed “You’re always right” He gingerly shifted his position so that he was lying down again, his head on her lap.

“Sleep well, sir.” She moved her hand back to his hair.

He mumbled a response, his eyes already closing. Within seconds, his breathing had evened out and he was fast asleep.

To Hawkeye’s surprise and relief, he stayed that way, seemingly undisturbed by nightmares and as she watched him closely for any sign of distress.

Maybe God had finally taken pity on him.

Or, more, likely, he was too exhausted to dream.

Hawkeye was vaguely aware that she should get up now that he was settled. Should dispose of the hidden booze, clean up and call HQ to explain that the two of them wouldn’t be coming in. But she found that she couldn’t bring herself to move. Exhaustion was catching up with her. Now that she was no longer focused on Mustang, she was aware of her own heavy limbs and gritty eyes.

Besides, Mustang looked so peaceful and needed the rest so badly, it would be cruel to move him. No, it was best that she stay, with him, like this, for a little while.

With that, she let her heavy eyes close and leant back against the wall, allowing the sound of her Colonel’s steady breathing the warmth of his skin against her leg to lull her to sleep.


End file.
